“Grace?”
Justin’s voice pulled her from her emotional tailspin before she crashed and burned.
She rose from her chair and moved to him, peripherally aware that Darcy had stepped out of the kitchen. Lacing her hands together behind Justin’s neck, she pulled him toward her, silently thrilled when his hands went to her waist and his lips found hers. The kiss was nearly reverent, a declaration of unspoken desire between them. It told of hopes and dreams for the future, wishes waiting to be fulfilled. It reassured her that she was precious and cherished and wanted, that she had a place with this man. It said almost everything Grace wanted it to say but, when she broke away to meet his deep blue eyes, the one thing she most needed she didn’t get. He didn’t tell her he loved her.
That was fine. She would wait.
Holding his gaze, she chose her words carefully. “That conversation is closed. I see who you are. What you were? That’s past. Just promise me you’ll keep it there.”
His brows drew together. “I would never let that violence come near you.”
She rubbed her thumb over his stubbled chin. “I’ll hold you to that.”
They set the table, moving around each other like satellites orbiting a planet, passing close but never touching. There was so much she wanted to say, yet years of rejection rendered her mute. She had no doubt she was going to have to ditch the insecurities and claim what she wanted if she intended to influence the outcome.
Turning to Justin, she found him watching her with the strangest expression. “What?” she asked.
“Nothing.” With a small shrug, he grabbed pot holders and set the chicken potpie in the center of the table at the same time more than one pair of feet clattered down the stairs.
“Melody has a friend over.” He leaned across the table. “Unfortunately it’s—” He smiled over her shoulder. “Hi, Jenny.”
If she hadn’t known him as well as she already did, hadn’t watched him deal with women at the club, she never would have picked up on his discomfort. She glanced over his shoulder and found Melody rolling her eyes as a young girl, probably fifteen or sixteen, gazed at Justin with open longing. Grace felt for Jenny. She understood how miserable it was to love someone and not have them love you in return. She decided to help the girl out.
Jenny noticed Grace and looked at her with confusion just as Justin moved to Grace’s side. Grace recognized the exact minute—when Justin’s hand landed on her waist—that Jenny realized Grace was Justin’s girlfriend. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open.
Grace stepped forward. “Hi, Jenny. Justin’s told me a lot about you.”
The girl considered her for the briefest second before glancing at Justin. “He has?”
Grace offered her hand. Jenny shook it, still staring fixedly at Justin. “He has. Apparently you’re a pretty regular fixture at the Maxwell house.” Smiling, Grace retrieved the hand Jenny kept shaking. “Justin was teaching me how to make chicken potpie.”
“You can’t cook?” the girl asked, obviously aiming for disdain.
“Nope. Not unless you count opening cans of soup. I make a mean can of soup.”
“I’ve taken home economics. I can make a bunch of stuff,” Jenny said assertively.
“That’s cool.” Grace sat in the seat Justin pulled out for her. “What’s your best dish?”